Some Mothers Son
by Mayqueen
Summary: Well, frankly I don't think this is a fic that can be summarized. All I can say is that I don't think anything like it has been done. Do read and review.


EVERY MOTHERS SON  
  
Disc: Well, the basic structure is Rowling's, but most of the main characters and the plot is mine, except Albus and Voldemort and Harry et al.   
  
Who am I? Right now I am just an old withered woman sitting in an ancient pub that has seen its heyday years ago. Passer-bys give me a sympathetic glance and then, with eyes that widen with horror at the sight of my wizened face and blackened teeth, hurry away. I am just an old crone, who has often been mistaken for a hag. But I wasn't always the decrepit, desiccated woman who reads fortunes for a few knuts. Oh no, once I was the last scion of the greatest family of the Wizarding World - I was Morgana Slytherin.  
  
Yes, I said Slytherin of the Salazar fame, one of the founders of Hogwarts and the idol of every succeeding dark wizard thereon. I was descended directly from him, my father being the proud bearer of the Slytherin name - Marvolo Slytherin. He was a proud man, with all the talent that heredity promises, or can promise. I was his only child, a disappointment since he had always expected a son. A son who could carry on the time honored name, a son who he could train in the dark arts that he himself held so dear. Instead he got me - the hop-out-o-kin of the family. Instead of inheriting the silver-gilt hair and green eyes of my family, I had golden hair, hair as golden as the lion that proudly adorns the Gryffindor banner and eyes of the tawniest brown. Oh, I was beautiful. Though you may not believe it now, I was a lovely little thing. I was also a cheerful child, happy-go-lucky and merry. I remembered days spent in our castle near the English village of St. Mary - the happiest days of my childhood. My father was always away, too involved in his pursuit of the dark arts. With his departure I found joy and peace in my home. My mother was a gentle woman, cowed and afraid of her dark, bullying husband. But when he was away she came to her own. Hours were spent together when she taught me the ways of her own people, the Norse. She taught me how to sing and how to sew and told me tales of the Valkyries and the heroism of Thor and Siegfried and other Nordic warriors.  
  
Then my father returned, and with him came his anger and his overbearing presence. My happy childhood home had become purgatory. I was constantly chided for my foolishness, for my inability to perform superior magic. I became, like my mother before me, a timid person afraid to voice her opinions because she was so often rebuked for it. Then a turning point of my life came, one of many. I got my letter to Hogwarts. Hogwarts, the school founded by my ancestor! Hogwarts, the best school for magical education. I was going to Hogwarts. For the first time in my life my father was proud of me. He was proud of the daughter, previously regarded with scorn, because she was going to Hogwarts. In my day, witches did not often go to school. They were taught at home because it was not seemly for them to associate with men. But my father insisted I go. After all there had to be a Slytherin at Hogwarts. It was a matter of honor, as was so much else in my fathers lexicon.  
  
Even today, 80 years and more later, I remember the first time I boarded the Hogwarts Coach that took me to the place that would be my second home for seven years. I was an awkward eleven, my golden hair falling over my face, my brown eyes shyly squinting at the students sitting around me, laughing and talking. Beside me sat a young boy who seemed to be my age. I liked the look of him. He was tall with dark brown hair that fell a little below his shoulder in defiance of fashion. His eyes were blue, the sharpest, most brilliant blue I had ever seen. His smile was vivid as he turned it on me.   
  
Shyly I asked, "What is your name?"  
  
He smiled again as he replied, "Albus Dumbledore. What is yours?"  
  
"Morgana Slytherin." I told him.  
  
As I said my name, a hush fell over the coach. Twenty pairs of eyes were turned on me, all holding the same expression of mixed awe and horror. My father would have been delighted, I was simply embarrassed. My own eyes fell. But the boy sitting next to me didn't seem to care. "First year?" he asked.  
  
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Then in a burst I said, "It's alright if you would rather not talk to me. A lot of people don't like to associate with the House of Slytherin."  
  
He shrugged. "I don't really care, Morgana. I am not exactly proud of my own family." He pointed to an older boy sitting a good distance from us. "See him? He is my elder brother. Sixth year! His name is Aberforth. He is 16 and already he is famous for his 'animal charms'. He is more or less illiterate. Don't ask me what he has been doing in school the last few years. And I know I am nothing like that. It doesn't matter who you're related to, it matters who you are." He turned the intensely blue eyes on me again. "And I can tell you are nice."  
  
I was his slave thereon. The rest of the trip was spent talking and laughing about spells. "I wonder how they are going to sort us." I said pensively.   
  
"Well, Aberforth told we'd have to fight a troll, but I don't believe him. If we did he would never have gotten in. However they sort us, I hope I am in Gryffindor, he is in Hufflepuff. I've heard it is absolutely amazing."  
  
My face fell. "I know I'm going to be in Slytherin. Where else could I be? Coming of his bloodline, I don't think I get a choice."  
  
"Oh come on Ana," Al laughed. We had already reached nickname terms. "How bad can it be? I mean you are really a Slytherin and you aren't too bad."  
  
A boy sitting on the other side of Albus cut in. "Oh, are you really a Slytherin. Father has told me so much about your father. He is Marvolo Slytherin, isn't he? I am Darius Malfoy, the son of Damien Malfoy."  
  
I had heard of Damien Malfoy from my father and I did not like the look of his son. Nodding coolly, I turned away. He tried to persist in continuing the conversation, but my pointed aloofness got through his thick skin. Mumbling something under his breath, he turned away. I resumed my conversation with Albus. Just then another boy entered the coach and joined us. Albus greeted him gladly and I gave him a long look. He looked familiar. He had black hair, unkempt and unruly. He had a wide smile, even friendlier than Albus. His eyes were an unusual shade of aquamarine. He held out his hand to me. "Michael Potter. Who are you?"  
  
"Morgana Slytherin," I whispered softly.   
  
He didn't seem in the least fazed. "Well met, cousin", he said with a smile.  
  
"Cousin?" I asked, rather surprised, because he looked like no relative I knew.   
  
"Yes, cousin. My mother was Aline Gryffindor, the last of the Gryffindors and everyone knows that Godric and Salazar were related."  
  
His name was met with a flood of cheers and I felt myself flush with anger against my ancestor. But, Michael disregarded it and sat down next to me. He laughed. "Never mind them, cousin. I see you've met Al. The only sensible man here, it seems, to have honed onto the best looking girl in the coach. Well Al, now you have me to compete with for the hand of my ravishing relative." Albus hit him on the head and I relaxed, the Mike's cheerful manner soothing away my worries.  
  
The coach rattled to a stop and one of the seniors muttered, "We've reached." We alighted from the coach and stood shivering in the chilly Scottish air. The seniors moved off towards smaller coaches that stood in a line some distance from us, while we were ushered by a man, who I later found out to be the Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts, to a fleet of boats that awaited us.  
  
Al, Mike and I sat in one boat along with another girl who introduced herself as Shannon Longbottom. She was short and thin with light brown hair and brown eyes, a lot darker than my own. She seemed dreadfully confident and a little bossy and belligerent. But all in all she seemed to be intelligent and witty. The boat ride was over all too soon. A tall woman ushered us into a huge hall, the ceiling of which was enchanted to look like the changing sky.   
We stood in a line as she introduced herself as the Head of Gryffindor, Professor Avery. The room was full of students whose eyes were trained towards us. I gulped. At the best of time I disliked being the cynosure of eyes and right now I wished that the earth would swallow me up. I surreptitiously gazed at Albus and found his face reflected my feelings. Michael of course lapped up the attention, bowing and waving at all the tables. Professor Avery returned with an old hat clutched in her hands.  
  
"This is the sorting hat." She said. "You will try it on. The hat will decide which house you will be in."   
  
The hat suddenly began to sing:   
Well don't judge by first appearance  
I am smarter than I seem  
I have the brains of all the founders  
Well fitted under my seam  
  
I was made by Lord Gryffindor  
A man who was nobly fair  
He put the power to see your soul  
And to judge what lies in there  
  
You may be full of courage and valor  
Of honesty and grace  
Then in good Gryffindor   
You will find your place  
  
You may be kind and loyal  
A true friend in need  
If such a person you are,   
Then in Hufflepuff you shall lead  
  
If you put wisdom before all else  
If knowledge you wish to find  
Then Ravenclaw shall be your home  
With others of like mind  
  
Then we shall come to Slytherin  
Where dwell those of ambition  
If you desire power as well as wealth  
Then this is your destination  
  
So clap me on your little heads   
And let me see inside your head  
Because I am the Hogwarts Sorting Hat   
And what goes is what I have said.  
  
When the song finished the first person was led to it. It was a David Astor. A Melissa Bones and then more and more people followed him. I noted that there were about 30 boys to 10 girls. Soon it was the turn of Albus Dumbledore. Al walked up to the seat and sat down. The hat remained still for a minute and then shouted out Gryffindor. Al stumbled with relief over to the cheering Gryffindor table and collapsed on a chair next to a pearly ghost. A little later, Malfoy swaggered up to the seat where in a second was declared a Slytherin. By then I was nearly sick with fear. I didn't like the look of the Slytherins at all. Michael went to the seat with an air of confidence. He sat down and was declared a Gryffindor almost as fast as Malfoy was declared a Slytherin. He flashed me a grin as he sat down at the table. The cheers were resounding. Now there were very few left and before I knew it, Morgana Slytherin was being called.   
  
I walked slowly to the seat, the silence of the hall ringing in my ears. I sat down and pulled the hat over my head. "Ah, another Slytherin, I see. I remember your father very well. Black man. Evil. You are like him in some ways, but not in others. Tell me, should I put you into the house everybody thinks you will be in? I see talent there, oh yes so much talent, as much as the Dumbledore boy or the Potter lad. Quite a batch, this one! Slytherin for you too? No, Slytherin is not for you, not when you hate the idea so much. If you are quite sure then, go be with your friends in GRYFFINDOR." As it shouted the name aloud and I tipped the hat off my head, I saw the shocked faces in the hall. Everyone seemed to be dazed at the turn of events. As I walked to the Gryffindor table, unaccompanied by a single cheer, I heard whispers of dissent echoing from almost everyone. But I heard one voice shouting, "We got Slytherin, we got Slytherin!" with cheerful disregard for the popular thought. Michael! Next to him Albus was clapping madly. And that made up for everything.   
  
My years in Hogwarts were over before I knew it. They were the most wonderful years of my life. My father was furious with me. I was the first Slytherin to be in any other house. And that too in Gryffindor, Slytherin's archenemy. That was why I spent most of my holidays either with Al or with Mike. We were the dream team of Hogwarts. Brilliantly intelligent, extremely talented, good-looking, we seemed to have it all. Al became Head boy, I was Head girl and Mike was Quidditch Captain and Prefect. We couldn't do anything wrong. Though I was still shunned because of my name, the company of Al and Mike was enough for me.   
  
The second turning point came in the holiday preceding our seventh year. It was one of those rare holidays that I was spending at home. My mother was ill, dying and I wanted to be with her. One day my father came to me, looking happier than usual. "I have to talk to you, Morgana. I met Damien yesterday and we discussed the futures of our children. He made me an offer, which I thought was most noble, all things considered. He offered to marry you to his son, Darius. I believe you know the boy. He is in the Slytherin House in your year."  
  
I whirled around angrily. "How dare you?" I snapped. "How dare you sell me off like a piece of prime meat? How dare you agree to Damien Malfoy's 'kind offer' without asking me? I will not marry Darius. I hate him. He embodies every quality I most dislike in a man."  
  
My father lost his temper. "Would you rather remain a spinster all your life? Or have you established a relationship with those one of muggle loving fools who you call your friends - that Gryffindor boy, or that Dumbledore radical?"  
  
At that I almost burst out laughing. Thought Al, Mike and I were extremely close; it was a wholly platonic relationship. We weren't in the least interested in each other. It was almost as if we were siblings. But I wasn't about to tell my father that. I stood up and met his eyes calmly. After all the Slytherin blood flowed through my veins. "Father, I should not bother about my relationship with them, if I were you. Actually you shouldn't bother about me at all. Why should you? You haven't done it so far."  
At that my father exploded. "You have the nerve to be insolent to me. You impertinent little tart! Get out of my house before I kick you out."  
  
My temper was up as well and I replied coldly, "Gladly, father. I will leave gladly and you can be the last Slytherin for frankly I am ashamed of my name, my ancestry and my father." With that last cutting rejoinder I walked out. I took the Knight Bus to Al's and spent the rest of the holidays there."  
  
Once Hogwarts was over, the three of us discussed what we were going to do with our lives. Mike had decided to become an Auror, whereas Albus wanted to train to be a transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts. I wanted to join Mike, but I had been categorically told that despite my marks, women could not become Aurors. I was furious, but I knew that sulking over it wasn't going to help. I decided to take a year off to decide. As I couldn't go home, I went to an inn in a small English village very similar to the one near which I had grown up, and worked as a barmaid. It was menial labor and forced interaction with muggles, but I didn't mind. It was honest work and I made enough to live off. I called myself Eliza Smith.   
  
It was there I met Tom Riddle. Tom Alfred Riddle, the son of the manor for the village. He lived in the big Riddle House. He was rich, handsome, charming. He had been decorated during the war. He was ten years older than I was, and seemed so brave and kind. He had smooth dark hair with twinkling gray eyes and a smile that made women want to love him. And he, well he loved me. From the minute he saw me serving drinks behind a bar, he began to woo me. He could make out that I was different, that I was a lady and it was like a lady he treated me. He took me dancing, he took me dining, we went for picnics, I met his parents and then one day he got down on one knee and asked me to marry him.  
  
I accepted him. That night I owled Mike and Al to tell them. Their reactions were characteristically different. Mike wrote a flippant letter congratulating me and telling me that I didn't know what I had missed by not marrying him. Al's letter was sober, touchingly so, it told me something I never knew. It told me how much he loved me and how he was always too shy to tell me so. He wished me joy and said that he hoped that Tom was worthy of me. He also added a note of warning about marrying muggles who were unaware of my true identity, but in the flush of my first love, I disregarded him.  
  
Tom and I were married in a quiet ceremony in the small village church. Both Al and Mike had come for it. Mike kissed me resoundingly on the cheek and chaffed me desperately, while confiding that he was planning on following in my august footsteps soon. Al took my hand and held it a long while, before turning away, but not before I saw the tears in his blue eyes.  
  
After the wedding Tom and I honeymooned in France. It was a glorious holiday, spent in sunlit vineyards and shaded cafes. I hoped the honeymoon would never end, but it did and we returned to England. Once home, I took my courage in my hands and told him what I had hidden from him so long. But though I had expected shock, I had not expected disgust. He recoiled from me. He asked me, his wife to leave him. He said he couldn't live with an aberration, an abnormality like me. For the second time in as many years I had been asked to leave the place I regarded as home.  
  
I left gathering the remnants of my dignity around me. My temper, which rose very rarely, was now ice cold and fiery hot. I vowed to myself that I would never see him again. But that was a vow I had to break. I found myself with child. I went back to him, to my husband and begged. I, Morgana Slytherin, begged him to take me back. I groveled and pleaded and I implored. But relentlessly he pushed me away. He told me to leave and to take my devil's spawn with him. He said he didn't want to have anything to do with warped species like ours. If my father hated muggles and mudbloods, my husband hated wizards more.   
  
I was too proud to appeal to anyone. I went to a muggle clinic cutting myself away from my world, my friends. I couldn't tell Albus and face the sympathy in his face, I couldn't tell Mike and see the pity. Finally I owled my father to tell him. His response was characteristic. He refused to see me; he refused to have anything to do with me. He wrote back that I had disgraced the family name and that I was no daughter of his.   
  
I had my child in the backroom of some quacks clinic. I had him in a room festering with blood and germs and fungus. And in that squalor, screaming with the agony of labor, I named the child after the two men who had brought me to this miserable condition. I called him Tom Marvolo Riddle. After hours of torture, I held him in my arms and looked down at him. In my arms lay a baby who seemed to be the splitting image of Tom. He had the same smooth black hair. I shuddered with revulsion as I held him away. And then he opened his eyes and I knew that I was wrong. The eyes that stared at me were the true Slytherin eyes - unblinking, unwavering green. This child was Morgana Slytherin's child, not Eliza Riddle's.  
  
The nurse, a stupid muggle slattern, but kindly asked me what I was going to do now. I suppose she could make out that I was not married. I told her I didn't know. She, then, told me of a small orphanage where I could leave the child. What else could I do? I was 19. I knew nothing of the world. I was barely capable of protecting myself, let alone a child. I nodded and handed my child to her. But before she left, I commanded, "Tell them that his mother died giving birth to him. Tell them that she named him Tom Marvolo Riddle, after his father and grandfather. Tell them to tell him that when he is 11." Then I held up two notes - one to Mike and one to Al. "And post these. Tell them Eliza Riddle is dead."  
  
I didn't lie. Eliza Riddle was dead. Morgana was alive, alive and longing for vengeance. The Slytherin in my blood was up. I couldn't call myself Slytherin anymore, not after what I had told my father, so I chose an acceptable diminutive. I called myself Serpensia. Morgan Serpensia was thus born. I was angry with an all-consuming anger that seemed to eat through my soul. The minute I was able, I left that miserable clinic and went to Germany. I had always wanted to travel, but I had never had the chance. Now I did. I went to Germany and learnt the one thing I had always avoided scrupulously. I became a student of the very dark arts I had once derided. I worked with a passion that I hadn't shown in Hogwarts. And there I met the third man who was to have an influence on my life. When I met him he still called himself Andrew Gilld. A half English, half German Wizard, he was the most brilliant student in the academy. Maybe he was the most brilliant person I had ever met. Only Al had impressed me more. Naturally we gravitated together, our love for the dark arts and hatred for muggles bringing us together. We trained ourselves for the war that Andrew knew would come. We trained for 10 long years, trained and waited. In those years Andrew Gilld became Lord Grindelwald and I became Lady Morgan. I dropped the Serpensia, the name of the greatest dark witch ever, being satisfactory. Together Andrew and I had a vision of a Wizard World with peace and love and unity. But for that we had to first eliminate most muggles. Some could be kept as slaves, but most had to die.   
  
Oh what a time to be alive. At that point in Germany a young man, a young muggle was gaining power. He wanted purity just like we did, but his purity was of a different sort. Andrew made a deal with Adolf, a macabre covenant of death. In five years or less, millions were brutally massacred. Adolf had an instinct for torture bordering on the genius. He made Andrew look like a sensitive, kind person and that was not easy. Between them they had the most chilling alliance the world has ever seen - muggle or wizard.   
  
I don't know where the world would be today if Adolf and Andrew had succeeded. Perhaps we are lucky they didn't, perhaps we are not. After all, we are just looking at it in retrospect. But they didn't. In 1945, the final battle of that Dark War was fought. I wasn't there then. I remember Andrew telling me that some cocky British wizard thought that he could defeat us. I remember us laughing about the temerity of the man. And I remember returning and finding Andrew dead. I remember holding his crumpled body in my arms and caressing it. I remember vowing revenge on the British wizard who killed him. And I remember a voice behind me saying "Ana?"   
  
Only two people had ever called me Ana. Mike and Al. I twisted around and he stood there behind me, his blue eyes fixed sadly on my face. He was older but he was still the Albus I used to know. His brown hair was still shoulder length, his smile still sweet. He had grown a beard, but that could not disguise the kind contours of his face. But he had killed Andrew and I had to challenge him. I stood up and was about to speak when characteristically he disarmed me.   
  
"Your son was head boy. He graduated last year."  
  
I looked up at him. My son, my Tom! No, I still couldn't call him that. The memories were still too raw, too painful to stir up. Eighteen years had put a thin veneer of surface laughter on my face, but my heart was still the raw, pulsating, naked mass of emotions that it had been all those years ago, when a good person had become dark. But I wasn't completely dark. Piteously I asked, "Albus, is he well, my son? Was he a Gryffindor like me? Did he look like me?"  
Always sympathetic Albus replied, "Yes, Ana, yes he is well. But he was nothing like you Ana. He was a Slytherin, in house as well as in looks. He had the green eyes of the Slytherin clan and their talent, your talent. He was prefect and head boy. But Ana, he is dark, sorrowfully dark. He opened the Chamber of Secrets, and I am afraid he killed his father."  
  
I looked at Albus bitterly. "So, Albus? I am dark now. Remember that. If my son is like me, I am not ashamed. I am glad he killed his father. If I could have done it, I would have. My son is strong. That is all I need to know."  
  
Albus fiercely caught hold of my shoulders. "You are not dark, Ana. There is still love in you, love and passion. I see it. You're still the old Ana."  
  
I shrugged him off. "If you see love, you see it for the cause, if you see passion, it is for the dark. That is who I am now. Go back to your wife and children and forget me forever. Ana Slytherin, the Ana you knew, is dead and has been for eighteen years now. This is Morgan of the dark."  
  
Albus moved away sorrowfully. But before leaving he stopped and looked at me and said, "I never married, Ana. Never! Remember that!"  
  
My eyes followed Albus as far as I could see him, until he disappeared in the horizon. Then I sank down my knees and wept, I wept, Morgana Slytherin. I wept for my childhood, for my friends, for my lost innocence and most of all I wept for the son I had never known and never loved. Now my leader was dead, I did not know what to do with my life.   
  
As any student of Muggle History will know, after the death of Andrew in 1945, Adolf also lost the incentive and support that he had been getting from the Wizard World. Having attacked Russia too early and hoping for Wizard intervention that never came, Adolf made a basic tactical error. He killed himself soon after, and his beautiful friend Eva died with him. But I always took that story with a pinch of salt. People like Adolf never kill themselves. They have to be killed.   
  
If anyone asks me what I did the next twenty years, I would not be able to tell them. I seem to recall traveling to so many places. Wherever a dark revolution brewed, I went. Before I knew it, I was old. I was old and weary and ready to retire when to my ears came the rumors of a young dark wizard who called himself Lord Voldemort. He was rumored to be the most powerful Dark Wizard for a century, more powerful than Andrew. I was interested by the feats of the young man, but I was not tempted to join him. Well, I was not tempted until I received a letter.  
  
The letter was from Albus, of course. It said very briefly this - 'I AM LORD VOLDEMORT.' Surprised and fascinated, I touched it with my wand and immediately it re-formed into TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE. I sat back astonished. I knew what Al had done for me, and I knew what it had taken him. Now, I had a new lease on life. I went to England. I went to my son.  
  
But before I went to him, I wanted to meet Al and Mike for one last time. I knew from the letterhead that Al was still teaching in Hogwarts. So I went to Hogwarts. I remember stepping back into that hall that I had loved so much and feeling an agonizing wrench because everything I had sacrificed came rushing back to me. Then pulling myself together I went up the stairs to where I remembered the staff room used to be. I muttered Alohomora under my breath and the door flew open and found several eyes trained on me. I looked at the faces of the teachers. They were all so young, so much younger than me. "Can someone tell me where I can find Professor Dumbledore?" I asked quietly.  
  
A young woman with a face both intelligent and stern got up. "I am Minerva McGonnagal. I teach transfiguration here." My brows shot up. I distinctly remembered Albus telling me that he taught transfiguration. "Come with me, Madam. I will take you to the Professor." I followed the girl up a winding staircase and found myself staring at a gargoyle.  
  
For the second time, my face registered surprise. This was, as far as I remembered, the headmaster's office. But that meant that Albus… but the McGonnagal woman muttered "Lemon drops" and the Gargoyle swung open. "A lady here to see you, Professor Dumbledore." She said deferentially, before she walked out. Albus swiveled his chair around and for the first time in twenty years I saw my best friend. Albus had aged, but well, hadn't we all? His eyes were as wonderful as ever, but I swear they were wiser and kinder than ever. And they were delighted to see me. I could tell!  
  
"Ana! What are you doing here? When did you come?" his questions tumbled out.   
  
I held up a hand. "Albus, I am here to see my son. I only came to meet you because this is the last time you are going to see me. I am going to disappear again. Even my son won't know who I am. Dark wizard that he is, he will not be able to take it. I'm going to him, not as Eliza Riddle, not as Morgana Slytherin, not even as Lady Morgan of the dark. I'm going as an enigma. But I had to tell you. You of all people had to know. You and Mike, for I know Mike can be trusted."  
  
Albus bowed his head. "Ana, Mike is dead. Your son killed him."  
  
I looked up, horrified. "Why?"  
  
"He was an Auror, Ana. He fought against the dark. He fought against your son and lost. Your son has a vendetta against the Potters because of their bloodline. Mike's son was in school, a few years junior to Tom. A good boy, though not very much like his father. Sober and not half as brilliant. I believe he is married now and has a son of his own - a lad called James."  
  
I bit my lip. One of my two tenuous links to childhood destroyed forever. Pictures of Mike rushed through my mind, memories of his casual kindness, his zany sense of humor and his constant support came to me and a tear softly rolled down my cheek. Mike had been like the brother I had always longed for. Albus had been in love with me. It hadn't been the same. But Mike was the one who teased me, the one who comforted me, the one who cheered me up. And now he was dead! Albus put a hand on my shoulder, and I shrugged it off gently before I left.   
  
I had done what I came to do. I had told Albus what I had to tell him. Now it was time to go to my son. I put my plan into action and before long was face-to-face with my son. He had changed so much. The rigorous austerities that he had practiced had robbed his dark hair of its color, his skin had been blanched to an ivory pallor, his once green eyes were now serpentine red. But he was still my son; my blood and I loved him. He radiated power. I had met several evil and powerful wizards in my long, dark career, but my son was still unique in his ruthlessness, his power and his cruelty. He didn't kill because he hated, he killed because he despised. His colossal vanity forced him to believe in his power, and for a wonder it wasn't misplaced. Sometimes I believed even Albus was afraid of him.   
  
Naturally I never told him who I was. How could I? But, thank god, he never asked. He always treated me with a causal affection, bordering on fondness, which he never showed to anyone else. He called me by a particular name to which I did not object, for was that not proof of his attachment to me. Perhaps he sensed the link, perhaps he just knew that I was fiercely loyal and appreciated that. Whatever the reason, I was with my son at last.  
  
My sons empire of terror, his campaign of fear lasted only a decade, perhaps a little more after I joined him. At the zenith of his power, he tried to kill a little boy and somehow the curse rebounded and hit him. The boy was Mike's great-grandson, the son of the lad Al had mentioned. The boy was called Harry Potter, thereon known as the boy who lived. I resigned myself, as time passed, to never seeing my son again. But I did not know, had no idea of my sons tenacity. Even from the forests of Albania, he managed to reach Hogwarts to try to gain possession of the Philosophers Stone. Once again the Potter child thwarted him. I once saw a photograph of the boy. The resemblance to Mike was so extraordinary that it almost made me weep. The same unruly hair, the same cheeky smile, the same wide eyes. But the color of the eyes made me gasp. They were green, a sharp, piercing green. A green as true and unequivocal as my fathers or my sons. Who was this boy?   
  
But right then I didn't have the time to bother about some unknown child. I had been given proof that my son was alive and I had a mission to accomplish. I set out for Albania. It took me a long time and considerable suffering, but I managed it successfully. True enough, my son was there, accompanied by a foolish servant, a rat called Wormtail. But he wasn't the brave, brilliant son I had seen. He was a miserable, disembodied creature, living a terrible half-life. I couldn't bear to see him like that.  
  
For the first time, I could act like a mother to my son. I fed him, I took care of him, I cherished him. He was dependent on me and I thrived on that. He was my infant once more, helpless and vulnerable and he took my proffered aid gladly. I could see his love for me and I loved him still more for that. I wished I could tell him who I was. But so many years had I spent not being Morgana Slytherin, I didn't know if I could become her once more.  
  
I accompanied him on his quest to return to normalcy, I aided him in the arduous travel; I became his only true companion. I was there during the transformation. I saw the desecration of Tom's grave, I witnessed the Potter child's abduction and his eventual escape, and I saw my son resurrected. For the first time, I knew that I had become an integral part of my son's life, so what if it wasn't as myself, and I was glad, gladder than I had been for a long time.  
  
So what if I am an old crone sitting in a rickety pub. This isn't who I really am. I am Morgana Slytherin, mother of Tom Marvolo Riddle. I am Ana, the love of Albus Dumbledore's life. I am Nagini, the cobra, the unregistered animagus, the best friend of Lord Voldemort.   
  
THIS IS THE LONGEST THING I'VE EVER WRITTEN IN ONE SITTING. PLEASE REVIEW IT. I THINK IT'S PRETTY UNIQUE AND I WANT TO KNOW IF YOU AGREE. 


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